


dancing in the dark

by lonk_from_pennsylvania



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Drabble, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Slow Dancing, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, also crowley being an awkward dork who doesn't know how to dance. you're welcome., this is my excuse to write crowley being soft with his bf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonk_from_pennsylvania/pseuds/lonk_from_pennsylvania
Summary: Aziraphale stuck out his hand. “Dance with me,” he said.Crowley glanced over at the Bentley, then back down at his wine glass, then back up at Aziraphale. “Now?”





	dancing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: this is based off a dream i had where me and the guy i like slow danced in a meadow. some changes were made, and now they're on a HILL.
> 
> the song i referenced in the second part was Perfect by Ed Sheeran. i just think it's a sweet song. it's not a perfect fit for them but it makes me think of these idiots every time. <3

Crowley had picked up a myriad of things in his time on Earth. He’d been through so many human fads and trends and styles that he’d had lost count. He was quick to adapt in a crazed, unstable world such as this, and slotted in seamlessly regardless of the decade. At times, Aziraphale had told him, it was maddening. The rate at which he swapped styles was too much to keep up with.

The one thing Crowley had never picked up on, to Aziraphale’s great dismay, was dancing.

Simply put, angels didn’t dance. Most of them, besides Aziraphale, never felt the need or desire to learn to dance. And certainly, if they danced, they would never do so in the way demons tended to (which involved much more suggestive movements of their hips and singing to loud, raunchy music). Crowley didn’t dance hardly at all in front of other people. Maybe a half-hearted sway now and then, but no proper dancing. He’d just never found a reason to enjoy it.

That, and he kind of sucked at it.

Aziraphale was the polar opposite of Crowley. He had never been fond of all the tumultuous change the Earth had to offer, but he did enjoy dancing.

One evening, they’d parked the Bentley on what was almost certainly a privately owned hill. Aziraphale didn’t like trespassing; it was in his nature to be good. But Crowley had promised an astonishing view and won him over. They likely would have been caught if every police officer in a five-mile radius weren’t _miraculously_ preoccupied with other things. Not to mention, the owners of the land they were on _just so happened_ to be away on holiday, and there was a solid guarantee on Crowley's part that there would be no trace left of their presence. As such, they took their time on the hill, joking and talking with one another for a good while. Before long, night had fallen.

There had been alcohol, music, and good company; after all, with the two of them together, it was always good company. The door to the Bentley was ajar, and the music played on the radio inside. At Aziraphale's request, the melody playing wasn’t Queen, but a local radio station. It hummed on, playing them newer songs, more popular with the youth of today. They had no lights, save for the Bentley’s headlights, but with those being so bright, they didn’t need much else to go on.

Between the flowing wine and their entertaining talks, they were both on their way from buzzed to inebriated before long. During a particularly rousing conversation (in which Aziraphale had outright mocked Gabriel repeatedly, to Crowley’s delight), a new song crept onto the radio that caught Aziraphale’s attention. Crowley saw the change in his face, his gaze now leveled on the Bentley. The tune that came on was slow and steady, and the singer’s sweet voice must have inspired something in Aziraphale’s tipsy mind. He stood and turned to face Crowley, who had been gazing up at the angel inquisitively.

Aziraphale stuck out his hand. “Dance with me,” he said.

Crowley glanced over at the Bentley, then back down at his wine glass, then back up at Aziraphale. “Now?” he asked.

“Oh, just...just forget the drink,” Aziraphale said, grabbing the (mostly empty) glass and tossing it somewhere to the side. Crowley was offended for just a moment before he took Aziraphale’s hand and stood.

“This song’s not good for dancing, angel,” he said. Aziraphale just smiled, smoothing his hands over Crowley’s chest, adjusting his jacket. Crowley felt heat crawl up his neck at the contact, so gentle and intimate.

“Maybe not your dancing,” Aziraphale said. “Here, let me help you. It’s easy, promise.”

Aziraphale guided Crowley’s hands. He pulled the right one to rest against his side and took the left in his hand. Aziraphale’s remaining hand rested on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley knew he was blushing now, his face likely the color of the wine they’d been drinking. Aziraphale beamed up at him, bright as the sun. He was breathtaking. Quite literally. Crowley had found that he had stopped breathing. “There’s not much to it,” the angel promised, clasping their hands together tightly. The sincerity in his face reassured Crowley’s nervousness. “Look. Just move in a circle.”

He led Crowley in the steps, and Crowley was thankful it wasn’t something more complex. Even still, his moves were unpracticed and clumsy. The going was rough, at first; Crowley’s pace was too fast here, too slow there. Aziraphale chewed him out for it once or twice, though laughs and patient corrections. There was some bumping, some awkward trips, and plenty of flustered giggles shared. It took a song or two before he settled into something they could both work with and Crowley had stopped stepping on Aziraphale’s shoes.

By that time, Crowley had already begun to think that perhaps dancing wasn’t so bad.

* * *

Aziraphale’s head settled onto Crowley’s slender chest, their hands clasped next to his face. The red had faded from Crowley’s cheeks, but a warm feeling remained, covering him from head to toe. Somewhere in his mind, something whispered that he wouldn’t mind feeling this way until Armageddon came for real. He could stay on this hill, lit by the car’s headlights, until Heaven and Hell came for them both.

The song was one he hadn’t heard before, some younger artist singing to slow guitar. The lyrics _very nearly_ hit home for him, but here and there, some things were off; age-old celestial beings were not the target for this song, after all. It was still nice, though.

He leaned his face onto the top of Aziraphale’s head. He could feel Aziraphale’s smile against his chest, the way his cheeks moved with the motion. “Having fun?” He asked quietly.

“Mm,” was Crowley’s reply. He was growing more confident in his moves. He didn't have to think about movements or where to put his feet. The going was easy now. He lost himself in the dance, and in Aziraphale.

“You should dance more often. You’re not bad for a demon.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley mumbled into his hair, “if you try to teach me to gavotte, I swear－”

Aziraphale just laughed, quiet and calm, and squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter. Crowley’s heart did a flip in his chest.

Crowley, even in that moment of love, found himself holding a renewed hatred for Heaven. He scorned the thought that anyone would consider something like this a sin. The grasp that Aziraphale had on his heart was no crime. An infatuation like theirs, that burned in such a holy, perfect way; surely it couldn’t be wrong. He heaved a deep breath, his eyes falling closed.

This angel, his angel, had been done wrong by every being in Heaven. Silently (as he never would out loud), he cursed God, and Her throne, and Her angels, save the one in his arms. And Gabriel. _Fucking Gabriel,_ he thought. He made a mental note to tear the archangel apart if he ever saw him again.

That surge of hostility didn’t last. Not when Aziraphale began humming the song against Crowley’s chest. He could take no more.

“I love you,” Crowley blurted out suddenly. He turned red as if he’d admitted his greatest secret. Aziraphale looked up at him, a soft, surprised smile gracing his face.

They had never said it before, not with words. They’d never needed to. But once it left his lips, Crowley knew that something had changed. Something in the air between them was just a little different. It was as if he’d confirmed something, made it real with his voice. Aziraphale didn’t say anything, not for a few seconds, but the look, the smile he gave Crowley made him feel like his knees were going to give out any second. It was full of patience, of steadiness, of love. Even still, the silence got to Crowley, and he tensed, afraid he’d somehow done something wrong.

“Too fast?” Crowley asked, almost pulling away entirely. Aziraphale responded by reaching up, carefully pulling off Crowley’s sunglasses. Then, he closed the distance.

Their lips met as the song’s final chorus swelled. Crowley had never felt such adoration in a single moment before. He let it consume him entirely. He held his angel, and kissed him, and felt ardent, passionate _love_ like he hadn’t since he was holy. But this was more than that. This wasn’t just angelic love. That love was pure but reserved, a built-in appreciation of all of God’s things. This feeling was in no way reserved; it was burning, powerful, all-consuming, a touch of divine love mixed with mortal worship. Holy mixed with hellfire.

It lasted just a few seconds, but it was all they needed. They pulled apart, resting their foreheads together. Aziraphale’s face was dusted pink, his eyes wide. Crowley stared back into them. They were the color of robin’s eggs, and forget-me-nots, _and home_ , Crowley thought, though he couldn’t fathom why it had come to him. Then, it was all grins and giggles between them. Their not-so-mortal hearts spilled over with relief and pure joy. The song was ending as Aziraphale collapsed against Crowley, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“Not too fast at all, my love,” Aziraphale said.

They stayed there, locked in a tight embrace as the last of the guitar strings faded into the night.


End file.
